Pavlov and Peanut Butter
by JellybeanChiChi
Summary: When Grissom tries to offer his best buddy some help, things get a little sticky... and creamy... but never crunchy. Full story from previous "What do you think?"


A/N: OK, here was the challenge from the QueenofSin (that crazy, young Brit!). Prompts are found after the story. And here is the entry from JellybeanChiChi. Hope you enjoy, Joey, and everyone else. 

Many thanks to my beta, Dame ProWriter11, who offered some hilarious tidbits. I am but her padawan. And to Chauncey for her encouragement and cool suggestions. She rocks.

**---------**

Sara couldn't judge who looked sadder — the dog or the master.

Either way, their forlorn appearances really cracked her ass up.

"It's not funny, Sara," Grissom said.

"Oh, it's funny."

"No, it isn't," he said before sighing and pointing to his boxer. "Why are you doing this to the poor boy?"

Sara spied another look at Hank through her camera propped on a tripod. She smiled as she saw the usually bouncy boxer sitting with a scarf around its neck, a neat Santa cap tilted slightly to the right on its head, and a cute pout on his face that mirrored Grissom's.

It cracked her ass up.

She went around the tripod to go where Hank sat. She patted him on the back and adjusted his cap a bit, which caused the dog to lose all hope of getting out of this predicament any time soon. He simply sighed and stretched out giving his pathetic, tired, puppy-dog look.

"Come on, sweetie," Sara prompted the dog to get up and move from on top of the Christmas tree skirt. "Come on, Hank. I want everyone to be able to read, 'Have a Bow Wow Holiday.'"

With the skirt no longer askew and the Christmas tree glistening and decorated, Sara hoped for a little approval. "So? How does it look?"

"Painful," Grissom said as he mouthed to Hank, "I'm sorry."

Then Grissom looked through the camera. "OK, honey. Sit by Hank and let me get a picture of you two together."

Sara's face lit up. "Yeah? OK. Great."

Hank sat up as Sara sat beside him on the floor. "See?" Sara said, as Grissom got ready to take a shot. "This is cute."

"Oh sure," he replied before snapping. "I think there should be photographic evidence that you perpetrated this crime of animal cruelty upon Hank."

He shot the photo just as Sara pantomimed, "Very funny, asshole."

After the shot was taken, Sara got up, pointed her index finger to make Hank stay where he was and then gestured with the back of her hand for Grissom to get out of her way. This time neither of them could hide their smirks.

Grissom stood back with folded arms across his chest as Sara snapped photos of her canine model, or as Grissom said, "puppy prisoner." Well, he said that in his head. "You know, subjecting him to this humiliation in light of what you are doing to him in a couple of days makes this exercise especially heinous."

"Your adjectives are getting harsher and harsher, Dr. Grissom," Sara said. "And it's not my fault that your little 'experiment' failed to get him out of his appointment with…"

Grissom went to open his mouth to interrupt, but Sara was quick to the punch, "And if you call him a butcher again, I'll smack you. Dr. Calderon is a fine veterinarian who will take care of our boy."

"Yeah, he sure will," Grissom said.

"You know, maybe we could ask Dr. Calderon to give Hank neuticles."

"What?" Grissom said sounding almost as frightened as he did incredulous.

"Neuticles. I have a friend who did that with her cat. When the vet snips the real organs, he leaves the sac and replaces the discarded items with fake ones," Sara said.

Grissom couldn't believe his ears. "How can you be so casual about fake testicles?"

"Gil, please. From all outward appearances, Hank will seem whole. He probably wouldn't even notice the change."

"If it were me, I'd notice," Grissom replied. "I realize there were tiny flaws in my experiment…"

At that point Sara's uncontrollable laughter filled the room, causing Hank to get up, bark and play.

"Like I was saying," Grissom continued, "while the primary hypothesis had its flaws, I believe if you would just give me enough time, I can figure this out."

"Grissom, if that EVER happened, we would be puppy grandparents several times over," Sara said, still chuckling and smiling. "Face it. Your dog is a stud, like his dear, old dad. And now, like his pop, he has an extra love for peanut butter."

Grissom eyes widened at the sound of those two words. "Sara! He knows what those words mean!"

They looked at Hank, who looked especially perky after hearing those four, now magical, syllables."

**Sometime before…**

"Because it's the responsible thing to do," Sara said to Grissom.

"Why can't the neighbors with the female dogs do the responsible thing?" To Grissom, it was a valid argument. To Sara it was an affront to women everywhere.

"So, this should all be up to the female of the species?"

"Please, let's not go down that road…" Grissom pleaded, uselessly.

"No, really. This is a good opening for a wider issue," she said with her arms firmly crossed on her chest.

"No, really, it's not," Grissom said as he placed his beer bottle on a nearby table and took a step towards Sara to gently put his hands on her shoulders. "I mean, come on. I'm a guy. Hank's a guy…"

"Hank's a dog. And you've seen him in action. His humping will certainly get himself in trouble," Sara said with a small smile that she hoped didn't betray her resilient voice.

Grissom saw that small smile. And it betrayed her. "Honey, Hank's my buddy. And as a guy it pains me to think about him getting… you know… snipped."

Sara shook her head. "Grow up and be a responsible dog owner. He has an appointment in a week." And with that Sara ducked under Grissom's grasp and made her way to the kitchen.

Grissom retrieved his beer bottle and swallowed the rest of the liquid. He pursed his lips and he seemed to be in deep thought. Then his eyes lit up and he went to the kitchen with an empty beer bottle and a mind full of thoughts. After throwing his empty away, Grissom retrieved another cold one from the refrigerator.

"Wow, Grissom. I know it's your day off, but isn't that your fourth in less than an hour?"

Grissom seemed to be oblivious to Sara's comment as he worked to twist off the beer bottle cap. "What if I could devise a way for Hank to control his urges without a medical procedure?"

Sara's sole reaction to the comment was the opening of a drawer and picking up a bottle opener. "It's not a twist off, Grissom."

Grissom looked at her with that "Huh?" look and then used the bottle opener. "Oh, thanks." After a long swig, he continued. "I could conduct an experiment based on Pavlov's theory in which Hank would sublimate any sexual urges thanks to a stimulus."

"What are you talking about?" Sara asked as she watched Grissom's face light up with a big smile.

He took two more slugs off the bottle, now a dead soldier, and gave Sara a sloppy kiss on the cheek. "I've got to write some notes. Then I'm taking Hank for a walk."

Sara watched as Grissom went back into their living room. He returned to the kitchen not a minute later with a legal pad and pen. He apparently needed one more thing – another beer. He then plopped on the sofa and got to writing.

Sara peeked into the room unsure of her next move. She didn't know what was more dangerous – a drunken scientist taking a dog for a walk, or a drunken scientist creating hypotheses.

Grissom sat engrossed in his musings. Even if he knew what Sara was thinking, he wouldn't care less because they stuff coming out of his head was golden. "This is going to work," he said to himself excitedly.

His theory? Whenever Hank would feel a sexual urge, the dog could channel those urges into something other… well to put it in the crude terms offered by Sara… humping something.

To begin the process of sublimation, Grissom theorized that he could observe Hank and whenever Hank would get a sniff of a female dog Grissom would offer Hank a spoonful of peanut butter in order to transform the emotion of "humping" to the desire for that special creamy or chunky sandwich spread. _This is good, _Grissom thought. _If this works, we could go into business in finding ways to create peanut butter flavored condoms for dogs. _Grissom stopped for a second to ponder that thought. He absently took a final swig of beer and nodded in agreement of his own thoughts. _Of course, we have to figure out what to do with the fact that dogs do not possess thumbs and take in consideration that dogs must have trimmed nails and then there is the whole issue of rolling the condom on correctly, but you know I saw that one dog on that British Idol show do some neat tricks that a 13-year-old taught him. I should be able to figure out how to teach a dog to put on a condom. Sure._

And with newfound confidence, Grissom extracted himself from the sofa – first quickly, and then slowly after he just fell back into the sofa the first time – and called for Hank. Sara watched as Grissom put the leash on Hank. "You sure you're going to be OK, babe?"

Grissom looked up with a smile. "Of course. But can you hold on to him for a second?"

Grissom jogged into the kitchen and came back with a small jar of peanut butter and a spoon sticking out of one of the side, leg pockets of his baggy, well-worn khaki cargo pants.

"Thanks, hon," he said, giving Sara a much drier kiss on the cheek than the one previous. "We'll be back in an hour of so."

And with that Hank led the way to the door, leaving Sara wondering what the hell Grissom was doing with peanut butter.

------

The walk to the dog park did a lot for Grissom. He had forgotten how doing activities after knocking a few beers back made him sweat. And as Hank took his master for a walk, Grissom kept wiping beads of sweat from his forehead and neck.

But it would be all worth it to save his buddy from a butcher named Calderon.

Understanding when Hank felt that special urge didn't come to a surprise to Grissom. Both he and Sara were well aware when Hank was heating up – his ears perk up and his butt gets tight and perky (her word; not Grissom's). Hank first exhibited those symptoms when they passed their neighbor two doors down – home of Cynthia, the Lopez's Alaskan Husky. Hank pulled against his leash to try and gain ground on Cynthia's scent and Grissom pulled him back to him.

Grissom struggled to pull at Hank, take the peanut butter and spoon out of his pocket and apply the spread on the utensil. _Next time, think about pre-made spoons with peanut butter already applied,_ Grissom thought, making a mental note to jot that good idea down in his pad.

Once the spread was on the spoon, Grissom worked to coax Hank to take the peanut butter while he was still… you know… horny.

"Come on, Hank," Grissom grunted. "It's peanut butter. I know you love creamy peanut butter. Come on boy. … Take… the damn… peanut … butter."

Success. Hank begrudgingly, but finally, licked the peanut butter from the spoon in Grissom's hand. Grissom told Hank to sit as the dog worked the spread in his mouth. Grissom took the time to jot down what happened and his idea about the pre-made spoons.

Grissom continued to gather notes as the duo walked.

"Second Spoon: McDermott's House. I have to agree Penny the beagle is cute."

"Fourth Spoon: Happy's yard (Lam's house). OK. This was a tough one. Hank actually stood on his back paws while I held him back. I never knew he was so into golden retrievers."

"Seventh Spoon: The method seems to be working. Hank almost immediately took the peanut butter at the Rangor's house. But a Bichon Frise? Really, Hank, I don't even know if that is physically possible."

"Twenty-fourth Spoon: (Ninth at the dog park) Jeez Hank! 24 spoonfuls?! Slow down, buddy. But I have to admit, for the last five spoonfuls, he's had the urge and then immediately sniffs my hand for the peanut butter. Kudos to you, Ivan Pavlov."

With half a jar of peanut butter consumed, a much slower pup allowed its master to take the lead on the walk home. Once Grissom opened the front door, Hank found reserve energy to run straight to his water bowl. It sparked Grissom to write one last note in his notebook: "Peanut butter makes dogs thirsty. Consider bringing water for dog during conditioning/sublimation phase."

Sara heard the front door open and close from the living room where she sat. She meandered in the kitchen where she heard the loud sounds of Hank lapping up water. She bent down to rub the top of his head, "Hey Hank. Did daddy treat you OK at the park? I bet you're sick of being a silly lab rat, aren't you boy?"

Hank licked Sara's hand comforted by her compassion and as if to agree with every word she said. He made his way to his corner of the kitchen, just as Grissom bounded in the kitchen with his legal pad and park notebook.

"So, Griss," Sara said and she tried to spy on Grissom's notes. "What's the verdict on your little experiment."

Grissom playfully batted Sara's hand away. "Stop. This is all preliminary data that needs to be properly recorded and quantified."

"Wow, you said that without slurring at all," Sara said with a big smile. "I assume the buzz is gone?"

"What buzz?"

"The five-beer buzz that initiated this crazy idea of yours."

"You just wait," Grissom said as he took the spoon and peanut butter out of his pants' pocket. "You won't be making fun of me when you see results of this."

"Well, it's too bad your buzz is gone," Sara said as she came behind Grissom and caressed his butt. "I was hoping to take advantage of you."

"Oh sure. Now you want to do it with the crazy scientist," Grissom said, turning around to face Sara and lightly tapping her nose. "You are not going to distract me and this is not crazy."

"Uh huh," she said, placing her hands around his waist and her lips upon his neck.

Grissom moaned a bit but it turned into laughter as Sara nipped at his ear. "Tell you what. Let me get a snack and make some legible notes and I'll meet you in the bedroom in a few minutes."

Sara stopped her string of kisses and looked at Grissom in the eyes. He arced his eyebrows a couple of times and took his turn to kiss Sara's neck. Their lips met once, twice, three times before Grissom asked, "So, you want a snack too?"

"Hmm, not what you're thinking," Sara said, inching toward the counter, "but I will look at your notes."

Before Grissom could snatch them or protest, Sara went around to the other side of the kitchen counter with Grissom's notes. Grissom simply shrugged his shoulders in gracious defeat and let her look things over. After all, he was pretty proud of his theories.

Sara's face as she read his notes perplexed Grissom. While he wanted to know what Sara found so amusing in his writings, he was hungry. And damn if he didn't feel like having a peanut butter sandwich.

He tossed his "experiment spoon" into the dishwasher and got a new spoon and a couple of slices of bread.

"Grissom," Sara said cautiously. "Have you thought this hypothesis through?"

Grissom opened the jar of peanut butter, got a generous spoonful on his utensil and held it in his hand, the scent wafting through the air. "Sure I have. Why do you ask?

Without warning, Hank tackled Grissom. Well, it wasn't as much "tackle" as it was vigorously humping Grissom's legs.

"Jesus, Hank. What the hell is wrong with you!"

Grissom squirmed and struggled to get Hank off of him. Hank was a dog possessed and Grissom looked as good as a golden retriever or even a Bison Frische. Sara stood rooted in her place but couldn't stop laughing. She watched as Grissom poked his way toward the sliding glass door dragging Sir-Humps-A-Lot with him. She finally moved when she heard Grissom yell, "SARA! A little help here?!"

Sara ran to the glass door and opened it and pushed the duo out of the house. She waited for Grissom to sneak back in the door before shutting it on Hank, who whimpered and barked at the rejection.

While a shocked Grissom worked to catch his breathe, Sara continued to suppress her chuckling. She wasn't doing a good job.

"Oh, really funny. What the hell…"

"Babe, did you ever think that instead of exchanging the urge for sex with the sensation of eating peanut butter that maybe Hank would associate peanut butter for sex?"

Grissom looked at her tired and incredulously. "Huh. That… that makes sense," he said, embarrassment rising in his voice. "Like salivating at the sound of a bell."

"Exactly."

"Damn. That was pretty stupid of me."

Sara put her arm around Grissom. "Blame it on the booze," she said as they walked toward the bedroom. "But honestly, Griss, when you wrote down your ideas for doggy condoms, you really should have realized something was very, very wrong."

Grissom slumped his shoulders even further, "But that was my favorite part."

--------

Back to present day, Grissom and Sara found themselves reminiscing about the experiment. Actually, Sara teased Grissom incessantly, every day since he embarked on that special journey to the park. But Grissom tried his best to take it like a man.

"I have to give you credit, Grissom," Sara said as she lounged in her bra and panties on their bed. "You did go to bat for your best buddy."

Grissom took stock of the image in front of him and smiled. "You find the story a little too funny." He untucked and stripped his polo before slowly getting on top of the bed, and on top of Sara. "You know, you look good enough to eat."

Sara inhaled sharply as Grissom's tongue slowly swirled beneath her lingerie. After lavishing some serious attention to the underside of her breasts, he spoke, his voice heavy with desire. "You taste wonderful, but I know something that will make you taste even better."

"What's that?"

Grissom smiled and hungrily put his mouth on Sara's. She closed her eyes and reveled in the passionate sensations. Grissom gently pulled away. "Keep your eyes closed."

Sara heard the opening and closing of an end table drawer and then felt the contrasting touches of Grissom's rough, strong hands and the light, gentle silk of a scarf he used to mask her eyes.

"Can you see anything?"

"No," Sara replied seductively.

"Good. Keep it that way. I'll be right back."

Sara heard Grissom leave, but return some 30 seconds later. As instructed, she kept her scarf mask in place. She felt the strong dip in the bed followed by an assault on her mouth. While Sara grabbed Grissom's neck to bring him closer, he left his hands to himself and his body stayed next to Sara's.

Then Sara felt Grissom's hand caress her stomach again for a moment. In the wake of his touch, she felt something wet and cool. _A little thicker than chocolate syrup, _she thought. _I see someone found the dipping chocolate._

Sara giggled as she heard the squirt from the squeeze bottle Grissom used to decorate her taunt stomach. She wondered what he was drawing because all she could make out were swirls and weird shapes. _Well, this will be interesting when his tongue follows the same path, _Sara thought with a wide grin.

It was only until Grissom stopped kissing her that Sara was able to identify what covered her stomach.

"Gil, you did put Hank outside, right?"

"Absolutely," Grissom replied with his forehead touching Sara's. The heat of his stare displayed his passion, and despite the sexual intense moment, Sara couldn't help but laugh.

"Something funny, my dear?"

"Well, I think your little experiment affected you, too."

"How's that?" he asked, as he slowly moved down her neck to her chest.

"Peanut butter makes you horny," she said before a moan escaped her mouth as he began to trail his tongue along the peanut butter path.

Grissom continued his journey till Sara's stomach was clean. He dipped his finger in her belly button to retrieve the last bit, which his used to make another trail due south.

"I know one thing," Sara said in between quick breaths, "I am never making you a peanut butter sandwich to take to work."

THE END

----------------

A/N: PROMPTS:

1. GSR; 2. "Stay BACK ye angsty bunny!!"; 3. 1,000 words minimum; 4. A Christmas tree in it somewhere; 5. Hank in a Santa's hat; 6. Grissom or Sara drawing something on one of their stomachs (I don't care what it's written in or what it says); 7. SPOONS! (at least 2 of them); 8. Rating must be T or above *eyebrow waggle*


End file.
